


Unconditional

by Naemi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fingering, Markers of Arousal, Multi, Oral Sex, Prompt Fic, Romance, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:23:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Closing his eyes, he scents the room: cum, sweat, arousal and, beneath the desire, the breath-hitching sweetness of trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unconditional

**Author's Note:**

> [set post season 3a]

 

[Allison.]

Isaac and Scott are comfortable with each other in a way that Allison thinks must come naturally with being pack. She loves watching them, capturing every detail: the irregular pattern that Isaac's fingernails draw on Scott's shoulders, the curve of Scott's back as he bends down to latch onto one of Isaac's nipples.

Isaac's eyes dart to hers as if asking her permission, but she knows he only does it to tease. The hand curled in Scott's hair reaches for her. She stays away for now.

Scott kisses his way back up Isaac's chest, stopping to nip at his neck, leaving a bruise that's nearly faded when their lips meet again. Allison refrains from thumbing the imprint before it's gone fully, but her gaze lingers. For a small eternity, the boys are only lips and tongues, so lost in each other that she would have felt left out if the sight wasn't so enchanting. They only part to strip off the remainder of their clothes, and Allison seizes the moment to touch Scott's mouth. He flicks his tongue over her index finger, and then Isaac is right there, kissing her wrist, the back of her hand, licking up the digit and over Scott's lips to capture her between them.

With a gentle push from Isaac, Scott sinks to the bed. Allison's gaze wanders lower, anticipating the instant Isaac wraps his fingers around Scott's cock one by one; his calculated teasing never fails to make both his lovers moan with need. Allison rests her head on Scott's belly for a closer view. He touches her hair, and she passes the gesture on to Isaac, nudging him down. His eyes, grey as a winter sky, trap hers, encourage her guidance where none is needed.

Isaac's smooth rhythm mesmerizes her, the stretch of his lips, pink and swollen and so kissable it hurts. She loves how he takes his time, how he can make Scott writhe and pant a little more with every lick and suck and stroke until he becomes an empty shell for lust, drowning in the sensation. Allison can't quite get him there, not like this. The thought is a little bitter, but she won't let jealousy scar her fascination, although her heart clenches with the wish to touch, to moisten her fingertips with saliva and pre-cum, and demand her share right now. It's not how it works, though. She won't—can't—ruin what's theirs.

When Scott laces their fingers together, she knows. It's ritualistic in a way, the unspoken rule that no one is left out. Allison focuses on the ripple of Scott's muscles against her cheek, how he tenses completely when his orgasm rushes through him. Her eyes are fixed on Isaac, registering the flutter of lashes as the taste hits his tongue, following the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallows what he can. Allison leans in, laps up the cum he missed—on purpose, she thinks, because he simply _knows_ —until not a drop is left, and then she kisses whatever much of Scott she can find right off Isaac's lips, not stopping until Scott gives a soft whimper that demands her attention.

 

[Isaac.]

Scott and Allison are comfortable with each other in a way that Isaac knows comes naturally with the bond of first love, an instinctive comprehension that unfolds the most when he withdraws. He loves watching them, capturing every detail: the post-orgasmic heave of Scott's chest, the smirk playing about Allison's lips before she shares Scott's own taste with him.

Scott's eyes dart to his, invite him in, but Isaac shakes his head slowly. Closing his eyes, he scents the room: cum, sweat, arousal and, beneath the desire, the breath-hitching sweetness of trust.

Isaac's world narrows to sounds and smells. Hushed whimpers coming to life in Allison's throat die on Scott's lips. Their heartbeats, steady in irregularity. The slide of skin on sheets, barely audible, as Scott maneuvers them into switching positions, and the rustle of fabric as her underwear joins the pile of clothes on the floor. Each kiss down her body—each lick, each bite—is distinct to Isaac's keen ears. A new wave of excitement hits him, one that he can almost taste on his tongue because it's strong and pure, and he _knows_ the flavor, knows without looking that Scott is settled between her thighs now. He cracks his eyes open nonetheless, can't bear the thought of missing one second of her gradual surrender to the sensation.

Isaac stretches out by her side, close enough that she could reach him. He inhales the fruity bouquet of her shampoo, moans when another tang of arousal spikes his nose. He wants to touch her, touch himself, but he feels too much like an intruder already, as if his mere presence is a blemish on a piece of art; he remains still.

His senses register every tiny reaction, translate them into vivid images. Her subconscious movements—arching her back, jerking away from the caresses until Scott has to hold her in place—are familiar, and maybe Isaac should be jealous that he isn’t evoking them, but he refuses to let those emotions control his heart.

When Allison curls her fingers into his hair, he knows. It's ritualistic in a way, the unspoken rule that no one is left out. Isaac follows her lead, kisses the side of her neck and licks a trail to her collarbone, where he sucks down, bruising her perfect skin. Pride fills him that he's the one to mark her—always him, never Scott—although her acquiescence satisfies his needs more than hers. She nudges him back up, and he pauses mere inches away from her lips, automatically adapting to her panting, drowning in her beautifully unfocused eyes. When Scott's name surfaces as a heavy moan, he captures it, catches every sound and breath and tremble until he can't tell where her orgasm ends and his own ache for release starts to claw at every fiber of his being. Scott trails wet fingers up Isaac's thigh, his side, tangles them with Allison's and their joint grip in his curls makes him shift and let Scott in on the kiss.

 

[Scott.]

Allison and Isaac are comfortable with each other in a way that Scott can't explain. Despite their subliminal rivalry—or maybe because of it—they share every moan and whimper, stealing them from each other as if maybe that's their way of showing acceptance. Scott is equal parts delighted and wary, especially when he withdraws, but he can't stop watching them. They're too enthralling.

Isaac's eyes dart to his, seeking reassurance, and Scott can't help but grin because even after so many months, he's still incapable of outright demanding anything for himself.

Scott moves aside, but keeps a hand on the small of Isaac's back, knowing the touch will calm him when Allison's sets him aflame. He watches the play of Isaac's muscles as he props himself on all fours, smooth contractions that make Scott want to nose along and catch a smell, but that's ridiculous. Allison emerges from beneath Isaac, a gracious movement that's reminiscent of a predator; her eyes show that certain sparkle, too, although she's still a little shaky. She kisses Isaac's shoulder blade, ghosts her fingers down his spine to make him purr, and Scott copies the sound, knowing where it stems from, what kind of heat pulses through him right now.

Scott's heartbeat picks up in anticipation; he loves how Isaac keens, sobs, begs as he falls apart, too quickly now after holding back. Each of these sounds, helpless and almost fragile, vibrate through Scott, connect to his most basic instincts. When Isaac buries his face in the pillow, writhes under the thrusts of Allison's fingers, squirms at the smallest flick of her wrist, bucks up as she brings her tongue into the game, Scott can't tell with whom he'd rather switch positions. Yet, behind the intrigue lurks a jealousy that he can hardly blink away. He realizes his eyes must glow with liquid fire, for Allison can't hold his gaze now, and her heartbeat jumps.

When Isaac grabs his wrist, he knows. It's ritualistic in a way, the unspoken rule that no one is left out. Scott nudges Isaac to face him so he can study every facet of lust he displays, from the sheen of sweat that's pearled on his forehead to his open-mouthed panting. His lips form voiceless repetitions of _please_ that Scott articulates in his stead, equally a reminder for Allison not to edge him and an encouragement for Isaac to let go; he does, squeezing his eyes shut. They talk him through his orgasm, sweet nothings whispered against his skin, until he collapses on the bed with a sigh. Scott licks down the side of Isaac's neck, chasing a racing pulse and the taste of satisfaction that makes his head swim. Isaac arches into the caress, and Allison frames him from the other side, gently walking her fingers over his flank.

Later, there will be complaining. Allison will shriek when she discovers the bite mark and that Isaac shredded the sheets. Again. Isaac will grouse about feeling icky because they trapped him in his own cum. Again. Scott will just grin and roll his eyes when they start bickering over trivialities. Their argument about who deserves to shower first will allow for him to take one, and when he returns, he'll find them making out, parting only to scrunch up their noses at his cleaning up without them and insisting on messing him up again right away.

Some people may think what they have is disturbing, or wrong at the very least, but Scott will always defend and protect it, and he knows the others will, too. Their triangle isn't perfect. They hurt one another, much more than intended, because sometimes it's impossible to figure out how to love two individuals just the same way. They make mistakes, over and over again, but they try, they're committed, no matter the respective motivations.

Fighting for _the three of us_ is worth it. Nights like this—nights without explanation or questions—prove it.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the New Year's 2014 Mini-Round at **Rounds of Kink.**  
>  Prompt: pattern  
> Kink: Messiness and markers of arousal
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful **Moit** , who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> [Feedback is love.]


End file.
